


Nice Day

by Inquisitive



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battlements, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullen Smut, Cullen's Loft, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Frostback Mountains, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex, Skyhold, Smut, Undefined Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inquisitive/pseuds/Inquisitive
Summary: They had come quite a long way since that first “nice day” on the battlements. This was just one of many “nice days,” one she hoped might be a “nice night” before all was said and done.





	Nice Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amara Lavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amara+Lavellan).



**Nice Day**

It was another “nice day,” the Inquisitor noted as she looked out over a breathtaking view of the Frostbacks, a small smile playing at her lips. It was always a “nice day” on Cullen’s battlements, whether it really was or not. Even in the brisk evening chill, the nippy mountain air causing gooseflesh to pucker unpleasantly beneath her tunic, it was still a “nice day.”

“It’s a nice day,” came the commander’s honeyed tenor, following the solid clunk and groan of his door being pried open against the fall winds coming down the mountainside. The Inquisitor’s hand moved to conceal her smirk as she turned to look at him. He didn’t stroke his nape uncertainly as he approached her, nor did he laugh with nerves. He had the confidence of a lion as he stalked towards her with a knowing smile, his heavy hands settling naturally at the curves of her waist. They had come quite a long way since that first “nice day” on the battlements. This was just one of many “nice days,” one she hoped might be a “nice night” before all was said and done.

“Nice, but maybe a little glacial,” the Inquisitor said through chattering teeth, automatically seeking his warmth. She smoothed her gloved hands over the shining metal of his vambraces as he embraced her, shuddering as the chill seeped in through the supple leather of her gloves. Cullen shook with a deep chuckle as he tugged at her hips, pulling her closer, her chest and cheek coming flush with his icy cuirass. She hissed. “Cullen, you’re freezing!” She shoved him away unceremoniously, his chuckle growing into a mirthful howl as she staggered him with her indignant protest.

“Forgive me, my lady.” He was choking back laughter. “I hardly notice the cold anymore.”

“How couldn’t you with that gaping hole in your roof?” the Inquisitor grumbled incredulously, vigorously rubbing her palms up and down the lengths of her arms. She turned her back to him to look out over the mountains, though she was careful not to lean on the gelid stone. Everything about this location, this altitude was numbing. She could no longer feel her face, and she didn’t relish the idea of him spending his nights here with the loft in such disrepair, though Cullen insisted he was comfortable.

Was he really? The Inquisitor sometimes wondered. Or was it that he disliked the notion of moving his quarters somewhere closer to prying ears—the barracks maybe? In the middle of the night, restless with fever, did he fear they would perceive his weakness? She knew he was prone to it in the early days of their courtship, when he’d first admitted to surrendering lyrium. It still pained him sometimes, though rarely in his waking hours—caused him headaches, tremors, but mostly just nightmares these days.

“Stay with me, where it’s warm,” she’d insisted back then, and sometimes he had, in the middle of the night. But for propriety’s sake, Cullen wouldn’t commit to it—not officially—even though the entirety of Skyhold was well aware of their romance. He could not bring himself to reconcile the indecorum of publically admitting that the Commander of the Inquisition had moved into the Inquisitor’s quarters— _permanently_. No, that would be too scandalous.

“You really should come in tonight.” Because it was _particularly_ cold on that nice day, otherwise he knew she wouldn’t have asked. “I only worry about you, you know.”

He joined her from behind. His gloved hands gently brushed hers aside to resume their gentle stroking motions, creating a pleasant friction along her upper arms, the numb flesh just on the verge of painful. Despite herself, the shivering Inquisitor leaned hard against his cuirass as sweat pricked between her shoulder blades, warmth pooling in her belly as she relished the slow burn that his massage inspired, her full lips parting open on a sigh that was borderline obscene.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed at the sounds she made, his pale face coloring as she leaned back into him, hard. She formed every part of her body to his, desperately seeking his warmth, the curve of her backside molding to his groin. Simultaneously, Cullen felt himself lean away, his member stirring with interest, but it was too late. The Inquisitor stiffened in his arms. Her moan stuttered in her narrow throat at the obtrusive presence against her rear…but then it deepened, sensually. She leaned into him for more.

“If you’d rather go indoors…,” Cullen suggested, words stilted while his hands stuttered at her sides, losing their rhythm.

Heat dove to her loins at the implication of his vague invitation, but the Inquisitor smirked. “Where? To your frigid loft, Cullen? Where it will be even colder once you’ve undressed me?”

The commander growled, this time not bothering to conceal the growing heat of his erection as he met her straining hips, his arms encircling her narrow waist from behind. “I’ll _warm_ you,” he husked, his voice low and rich with need against the shell of her ear. His breath was hot as sin as it ghosted over her nape, invoking a shiver not entirely from the cold. Her eyes rolled towards the constellations as the sky was darkening above. She swore there was fire in the man’s veins. There was never any need for the hearth when he slept beside her. She’d wake up sweating in the middle of the night, his broad chest like a furnace beneath the covers.

“ _My_ quarters,” the Inquisitor insisted, bucking her rear against him. She felt his fingers grip her hips firmly through her leather leggings, hard enough to bruise.

“Too far,” he protested, startling her when he placed a hot, wet kiss on her jawline, suckling the flesh.

“Then learn some _patience_ , Commander,” the Inquisitor rasped, fighting his halting grip to resume languidly rolling her rear against his cock. She felt his forehead hit her shoulder with a low groan, the warm bear pelt tickling her temple. It smelled so much of him—the heady scent of elder flower and oak moss enticing her, worse than animal pheromones.

“For you—,” he gritted through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing on her hips. The Inquisitor’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile as she anticipated his helpless surrender. “—I have very little.”

He startled her as the world suddenly presented itself upside-down, letting out a disconcerted yelp as his spaulder met the hollow of her abdomen. Her discomfort was abated by the sheer volume of the lush bear pelt when Cullen threw her over his shoulder, as though she weighed nothing at all, and stalked mulishly towards his bastion, wearing a smug smirk.

“Unhand me,” the Inquisitor laughed, feigning indignity as she feebly hammered his back plate with the flat side of her fist. “What will the scouts think, Commander?” Those damned scouts, always barging in on their furtive liaisons.

Cullen laughed, the gesture sending vibrations coursing all the way through her, settling agonizingly between her legs—torturous. She clenched her thighs together, succumbing to her vulnerable state of futility. How was it that Cullen had so easily turned her own mischief against her? She wondered this even now as he had a private laugh at her expense, swatting her rear with his free hand. The commander sealed her fate with his next words. “The scouts won’t be bothering us tonight.”

Deftly, he threw the door open and pulled it shut behind them, hard enough to rattle in its frame. He slammed the deadbolt locked with self-satisfied vindication and didn’t stop until he had done the same with the remaining two doors. Maker’s breath, _why_ were there so many doors? Only then did he have the mercy to set the Inquisitor back down on her feet, though she nearly crumpled on weak knees when he pinned her with his golden stare.

“Undress,” he commanded.

Even with her earlier grievances about the cold, she lacked the resolve to deny him, his authority sending jolts of delightful frissons to her quim as she obeyed, peeling off her gloves one finger at a time. Once her hands were bare, she worked buttons with trembling fingers, dragging her half-lidded gaze to meet his hot, hungry stare as he devoured her with his eyes. Layers fell to the floor, one after the other, the soft sound of leather crumpling.

He didn’t move again until she was down to her tunic and breeches, the cold from the stone floor seeping into her bare soles. She closed her eyes and shuddered against the searing cold, tensing when she felt his body heat grow near. She could almost feel the outline of him, sense his shape from the immense warmth that he radiated.

“Stand on the rug, silly. You’ll freeze to death,” he mused softly, startling her when she felt his hand on the small of her back, his breath so close— _much_ closer than she’d thought. She slowly blinked her eyes open, a flush coloring her cheeks. That wasn’t the same harsh Commander from only seconds before. That was Cullen, chivalrous former-Templar, unpretentious from a humble upbringing in Honnleath. And yet, even as he looked at her tenderly then, moving to cradle her face with a gloved hand, she realized both men had the same power over her—she bent at one’s command and leaned into the other’s gallantry.

He kissed her, tenderly, as his other hand fell to her hip, guiding her backwards. She sighed against his mouth when she felt the coarse texture of the rug beneath her feet, though it wasn’t much warmer than anything else in the dim, candlelit room. At best, it was lukewarm, so she pressed herself hungrily into the wet heat of Cullen’s mouth, relishing the feeling of his lips slanting over hers. He read her desire and responded in turn, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips in a searching manner. There was no question at all when she parted for him, allowing him entry.

He moaned, low and heated, at the heady taste of her. She pushed back, deepening the kiss, skin tingling where his stubble rasped against her. She threaded her fingers delicately through his curls as he traced his thumb over her ribcage, barely brushing the underside of one breast through the thin fabric of her tunic. Her nipples strained against it, aching as she angled her body to press her breasts painfully flat against his cuirass. She flicked her tongue over his scar and it was his undoing.

The Inquisitor gasped as Cullen’s strong fingers gripped her leg, hoisting it over his hip. She felt the edge of his desk hit the back of her thighs as he lifted her, setting her down without ceremony. He took the tip of a gloved finger between his teeth and pulled, freeing his deft fingers just as the Inquisitor had begun diligently working on the clasps of his armor, shedding pieces of him to the floor.

His second hand freed, Cullen pulled the knot from the laces of her breeches and slid them halfway down her calves, drawing a meek whimper from the Inquisitor. Her fingers hesitated in their movements as she felt the back of a knuckle caress her through the thin fabric of her smallclothes, keening softly for more.

“What were you doing?” Cullen reminded her, nudging her knees apart with his hips. She made a sound as if enlightened and finished unbuckling his thick belt, simultaneously kicking her feet free from the leggings pooled about her ankles. It wasn’t long after she curled her trembling fingers into the bear fur mantle and pushed it down his shoulders, the burgundy surcoat falling unceremoniously into a heap on the floor, that Cullen gently clasped her tiny hands in his, rough and warm, halting her.

The Inquisitor looked stricken when her eyes snapped up to his. At her questioning stare, Cullen gave her a slow, sweet smile. “You’re terribly slow at this,” he explained, placing a chaste kiss to the tips of her fingers. Then he briefly tore his warmth away to expertly divest his greaves, boots, and cuirass, kicking them carelessly aside. The Inquisitor couldn’t be offended when he also pulled his tunic over his head, finally bearing naked flesh to her ravening gaze. She surely looked like a woman starved as she reached for his chiseled form, nails scraping over searing flesh. Yes, she reasoned, when he pressed his strong chest against hers; that would have taken her all night.

She tipped her head back and let him press hot, open-mouthed kisses all along her tender throat, aching to finally feel his flesh on her flesh. She was half sprawled over the desk, the commander leaning over her, nestled tenaciously between her thighs. She wrapped his waist with her legs and crossed her ankles behind his rear while one large hand splayed flat over her taut abdomen, the other ghosting up her flank, covering her with his warmth. Boldly, she used her heels to tug his hips forward, nestling him flush against her groin. His length strained for her through the thick fabric of his trousers as he unleashed a low groan, grinding his hips. Even through her smallclothes, he could feel her wet heat pulsating for him. He throbbed and twitched in answer.

“Maker, you are _exquisite_ ,” he breathed. The Inquisitor’s head fell back on a guttural moan when his thumbs brushed deftly over her nipples. He knew her body so well, particularly when her thighs clenched desperately around his hips. He knew what she wanted—what she _needed_ —prying her legs apart, freeing himself from her grasp, and she groaned when she felt his warmth leave her once again.

Before she could question his intentions, he had knelt between her legs, the tip of his nose drawing a languorous trail from the inside of her knee to the crease of her inner thigh. She shuddered when she realized—practically came apart when she felt him pull the fabric of her smalls aside and his nose brushed her delicate curls. “ _Ex_ — _quisite_ ,” he repeated, drawing out the word, over and over, mumbling lips ghosting across her flesh as he spoke in hushed tones, like a prayer. She felt the fullness of his bottom lip just barely brush her clit and she nearly screamed, clamping her thighs down hard on his ears. He laughed with his lips pressed lightly to her quim, sending more torturous sensations through her. She bucked her hips and groaned in frustration, straining to feel her velvet heat fully pressed against his supple mouth, but he was just out of reach.

“What was that about patience, Inquisitor?” he asked, nuzzling his stubbled cheek along her inner thigh. The tantalizing prickle against her sensitive flesh drew out another excruciated moan, her flexing fingers straining to tangle into his hair—punish him for his audacity.

Through gritted teeth, she said, “If you don’t devour me, Cullen, there will be less than a little left.”

He felt his breath leave him in a whoosh, like she’d punched him in the gut. Her rigid tone sent jolts of pleasure straight to his groin, his member twitching eagerly in his pants. Without preface, he pressed his nose into her heat, laving her clit with the flat of his broad tongue. The Inquisitor shuddered around him, her thighs quivering from the strain. He gripped her ankle and lifted her leg over his shoulder, steadying her with bruising fingers. With his other hand, he began to tease out her moans, caressing her quim with feather-light strokes as he deftly nipped and sucked at the bundle of nerves, the apex of her pleasure.

Barely coherent, the Inquisitor groaned a series of garbled curses, head lolling deliriously. “Yes, Cullen,” she moaned, scraping her fingers lightly over his scalp. The light caresses caused him to moan lowly into her sex, her eyes snapping open at the sensation of his basso vibrations running through her. Just then, she felt a thick digit push into her core, her back arching at the sudden intrusion. “Cullen!” she gasped, her legs scrabbling against his shoulders as he began to deftly curl his finger against her walls, beckoning her cunt. His thumb rubbed slow circles into her clit as a second finger entered her, relishing the feeling of her slick velvet walls flexing around him…imagining how magnificent she would feel clamped tight around his throbbing cock.

She groaned. He leaned his forehead into her thigh as he inhaled the heady scent of her sex. She was a femme fatale and she slayed him dead, rocking her hips into his hand, desperately seeking her release. Andraste preserve him, he wanted to give it to her.

“Cullen?” she gasped, his name a broken whimper on her lips. “Please….” She needn’t say anymore, the commander undone by the throbbing ache in his pants. He heard the Inquisitor’s keen as he harshly withdrew his fingers from her cunt, mounting the desk in one swift motion. The Inquisitor yanked his laces free, nearly ripping them as she dragged his breeches and smalls roughly down his thighs in one swift motion. She shuddered when his cock sprang free, in equal parts cold and anticipation.

Cullen frowned. “You’re still freezing,” he murmured, kneeling to nuzzle his nose between her breasts. He’d let her leave her tunic on, but she was still half naked, her bare thighs prickled with gooseflesh. His eyes moved tentatively towards the loft where his warm bed could accommodate them. There was nothing at all _sexy_ about the rickety ladder to his quarters, but the Inquisitor was nearly blue in the lips, shivering on his desk. “Go. You first,” he insisted.

The Inquisitor raised a brow, in the midst of grasping at his cock. Cullen hissed when he felt her cool fingers close around his burning shaft, scorching him with an icy prickle in the shape of her tiny palm. “Mmhmm. Yup. Somewhere warmer I think,” he stammered, voice strained as he pressed his lips into a tight line, suppressing a more emasculating sound as her cool hand worked his length, chilling him. He gripped her wrist resolutely, prying off frozen fingers, and crawled off the Inquisitor, simultaneously kicking his breeches aside as he stood back from the desk.

She looked uncertainly at Cullen, then at the ladder, then at his straining member, licking her lips slowly when it twitched under her hungry gaze.

Cullen scrubbed his face with his hands and pointed at the ladder. “Go now, darling. Hurry, please.”

This seemed to convince her, pout now a coquettish grin as she slid off the desk and proceeded to ascend to the loft. Cullen surveyed the mess of his office, scattered articles of clothing and armor littering the floor. When he turned back, gripping a rung, he dared to look up and saw the Inquisitor’s form moving slowly up the ladder. Her smallclothes discarded, he had an overt view of her glistening sex and slick thighs hovering over him. He swallowed thickly, waiting for her to crest the last rung. When she did, he followed, ascending two at a time.

At the top of the ladder, the Inquisitor had wasted no time in seeking out the warmth of Cullen’s bed, though when he peeled back the sheets, he saw that she had discarded more than just her smallclothes. She wore nothing but his surcoat with the bear skin mantle draped luxuriously over her narrow shoulders, ridiculously large on her small frame. The front hung open, barely concealing the curves of her breasts.

“Maker take me,” he groaned, his knee sinking into the bed.

“No…take _me_ ,” she purred, leaning back into the pillows, her knees falling wide.

Cullen groaned and pressed his forehead to the bed, his mouth gone dry at the sight of her. He prayed, worshipped her, as an eager hand sought out the curve of her ankle, sliding up her muscled calf, her knee, her inner thigh, pausing to caress her sex. She jerked, quivering at the rough sensation of the warm, calloused pad stroking practiced patterns on her clit. For a moment, Cullen delved deeper, his tongue darting over his lips in anticipation as he wet his fingers inside of her. _Maker_ , she was sopping wet.

He reached down and took himself into his hand, slicking himself with her essence as he nestled between her thighs. She tilted her hips as he pressed the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance, closing his eyes. He felt her slender fingers close on his wrist, guiding him, the both of them crying out in agonized bliss as he buried himself within, slowly stretching her, all the way to the hilt. Her head fell back and she moaned, barely comprehending the fullness of him. It was when they could press no closer that she met his eyes, marveling at the smooth friction of him. Her hips rocked instinctively, eliciting a groan as Cullen’s hands urgently moved to still her writhing hips.

“Wait,” he pled, barely holding himself together as she stretched around him, threatening to squeeze him dry. She was so eager— _he_ was so eager—so tight, slick and warm that the sensation of it alone nearly finished him right then.

It was all she could do to bite her lip and wait, summoning the dregs of that patience they both lacked as he adjusted to her needy cunt. She was in the middle of a steadying exhale when she felt his cock begin to move in her, sliding out nearly all the way, before driving back into her with force. It shook her to her core and she cried out, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs, urging him to do it again and again.

He obliged, gently at first, leisurely rocking his hips as she strained to meet his slow thrusts. He kissed her, her taste still lingering on his lips, and savored the feeling of his bottom lip between her teeth as she bit him, unhinged by the sounds of slick skin colliding feverishly, her nails biting into his shoulders. Cullen picked up his pace, slowly building to a frenzied rhythm while he pounded her relentlessly, fingers ghosting down her sides to grip her hips, pulling her roughly down onto his length. She returned his thrusts, each one met with a groan or gasp, digging her heels into the bed while he fucked her in earnest. Both were spurred on by the sounds and smells of their sex. Cullen was gasping, growling as she whimpered his name, his cock inside her twitching and throbbing at every slight arousal, every obliging tilt of her hips.

As he brought her closer to the edge, he felt her walls clenching sporadically around him, her trembling fingers moving between them as she began to pleasure herself to their love-making. His eyes followed her nimble fingers as she worked herself towards completion, even better, savoring the sight of his shaft driving in and out of her slick center. She was a quivering heap, every muscle in her body taut like a spring as he thrust into her vice-like cunt. Cullen roughly brushed her fingers aside and pressed his thumb to her clit, drawing out her gratified mewl. Never satisfied, her searching hands moved to knead her bouncing breasts instead.

She was close— _so_ close—as he pleasured her. Her whimpers and moans were rhapsodic, _beautiful_ , and they only grew in lascivious crescendo as he struck the apex of her pleasure repeatedly, building her orgasm. Her mouth fell open on a silent scream as her walls urgently spasmed around his length, clenching tighter than he thought possible. He was so overwhelmed by the feeling—overwhelmed by her smells and sounds—that the tantalizing squeeze of her deft quim coaxed him to his orgasm.

Cullen groaned as he came, his lips grazing her jaw as his seed filled her in hot lashes. He kissed, licked at her throat as he continued to move slowly inside of her, prolonging their release. She writhed, a pleasure that bordered on pain emanating from her oversensitive clit as his thumb brushed her one last time, drawing out her strangled moan.

They shared a lazy, open-mouthed kiss as he fell to her side, pulling her into his chest. She was gasping, sucking in air as he nuzzled his nose into the bear pelt, pulling it aside to place a kiss on the nape of her neck. She relished the feeling of his heaving chest radiating heat across her back, finally feeling warm all the way down to her toes despite the howling wind and the gaping hole in the ceiling. His warm leg nestled between hers and she completely forgot what it was to feel cold.

“You are exquisite,” he worshipped her, for the millionth time. She felt the blanket settle over her shoulder, trapping in their heat, and nestled deeper into his chest.

“And you are _very_ gifted,” she responded, wriggling to settle her rear flush against his flaccid member. She hadn’t meant anything by it—not at first—merely loving the way his body molded to hers so perfectly, and then something twitched, his length hardening, Cullen’s groan of frustration resonating against her shoulder blade.

“ _Wicked_ woman,” he growled, at her mirthful laughter vengefully delving a hand to the juncture of her thighs, her quim still slick and dripping with his spend.

She smothered her agonized moan with his pillow. “I can’t,” she laughed. “I couldn’t possibly…”

Cullen silenced her by tilting her face up for a kiss. She shifted onto her back as he pressed flush against her side, recognizing the sweet and languid way that his lips slanted over hers. “I love you,” he murmured, sweeping stray locks from her forehead as he leaned into her. “Everything you are, I adore.”

She smiled slowly, full of mirth as his fingers laced with hers beneath the covers. Mirroring him, with her free hand she reached up to brush stray curls from his sweat-slicked forehead with dainty fingers, staring into honey-golden eyes. “I love you, too, Cullen,” she whispered, her usually silken voice somewhat coarse from all her worship of him.

Slowly, a sly grin ghosted across her lips, debauching her serene expression. Cullen noticed, stroking her cheek. “What is it?” he mused, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.

The Inquisitor smiled. “I was just thinking how tomorrow will be a nice day.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've become a great fan of some works here on the Archive! I optimistically wrote this while awaiting my own invitation. Thanks to my best friend for letting me always rave to her about Cullen long before she knew what a Dragon Age was. This is dedicated to her (and her Inquisitor Amara). Hope you enjoyed!


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